


Dinner

by StarvingMe



Series: Inqed Words [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Gen, I didn't actually know where I was going with this, I skipped over some stuff, I took some liberties pleasedon'thateme, I'm quite fond of these two, Sad Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 22:33:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4497249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarvingMe/pseuds/StarvingMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Wordsmith makes the Inquisitor dinner, and then unintentional cuddling happens.  I'm not sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner

The door swung open on silent hinges as Wordsmith carried an armful of books into the living room.  It had been a long week, weaving deals and sniffing down leads, but she had a good feeling about these volumes—they were particularly hard to acquire and practically buried in dust, so maybe they had something on the sigils to help the Inquisitor.

She noticed half a second too late that the angel in question was curled into the sofa, jerking awake when the heavy tomes slammed onto the coffee table.  Flailing as she hurriedly tried to pretend that she had been working, the Inquisitor managed to pull herself upright, rubbing one bleary eye as she looked at at Wordsmith.

“Morning,” she murmured, hiding a yawn as she gingerly stretched.  

“It’s after eleven,” the demon said, straightening up the scribbled notes and scattered pens, glancing over the nonsense with doodles in the margins.

“Thasstill morning,” Inquisitor said pointedly, starting to get up.

Wordsmith’s eyes rolled before she could stop them.  “… At night.”

At that, the Inquisitor paused, blinking before she murmured, “O-oh… then…”

“You’ve been out all day again.”

Her frown deepened a little as she ran a hand through her hair, brushing it out of her face.  “Awww, man…” she groaned, gaze falling to her feet.  “Why is it so hard to stay awake…”

“Well, if I had to guess,” Wordsmith said, turning to nudge her towards the kitchen to make the sleepy angel eat something, “your meat suit is trying to heal itself, with your grace being absent like it is…  And that’s how the humans do.”

“Well, it’s miserable,” the Inquisitor said, flopping into one of the kitchen chairs and frowning at the glass of water that was placed in front of her. “And why the water?”

“What?  It’s good for you, jump-starts healing or something,” the demon said, beginning to root around in the fridge before pulling items out.  “Plus all the other really good benefits, like keeping your vessel alive.”

She frowned at the glass, starting to detest the stuff, but she couldn’t argue—her vessel confirmed the facts, and that was that.  Sighing, she took another drink, relaxing a little as she did indeed feel better.  Leaning on one elbow, she watched the demon work from where she sat, pans being pulled out, the range clicking on…  “How was work?  Productive day?” she asked, the same question she always asked when the Wordsmith came home. Sometimes she got a real answer, and sometimes it was just a word or two, but it made her feel like she was doing something…”

“Hmm…  Could’ve gone better,” Wordsmith said, setting the pot to boiling on the stove.  “Found some better volumes that might help…  Had to resort to some… drastic measures…  But it was simple enough.”

The Inquisitor frowned a little at that, watching her friend.  “You don’t have to go to such lengths for me,” she said.  “I can manage without you going so far…”

“Stop worrying about it, angel,” the demon said, looking over her shoulder.  “Besides, I owe you.”

Blue eyes watched her closely.  “Uh huh… If this is about that one time with the body, that hardly counts as helping…  I couldn’t very well have left you to clean up that mess…”

“Still,” the demon said, shrugging nonchalantly as she turned back to the stove to finish dinner.  “You helped.  It’s more than some would’ve done…”

 

* * *

 

Pulling her headband off, Wordsmith groaned, running a hand through her hair.  Plates of half-eaten pasta and vegetables were forgotten on the coffee table, Inquisitor’s half-glass of wine untouched (because she’d pouted until she’d been given  _something_  besides water to drink, only to lean her head onto Wordsmith’s shoulder and promptly fall asleep).  Sighing,she took another drink of her own liquor before gently closing her book.  It was getting late again, and she needed to turn in, but glancing down at the brunette, eying where she’d practically thrown herself around the Wordsmith, she didn’t know how she was going to get up without waking the angel.

She tried a couple of times, turning on the couch to slip out from under the Inquisitor, only to freeze as she shifted, an arm slipping around her to hold tightly to the demon as the brunette murmured into her shoulder.  Stiffening a little at the awkward moment, she frowned, debating whether she should push her friend off.  Placing a hand on her shoulder to shake her awake, long fingers brushed exposed skin, the stitches stiff and unforgiving as the Inquisitor cried out, arms squeezing tightly around her middle.  Yanking her hand back, she watched her friend slowly relax, murmuring uneasily as she drifted off again.

Red eyes followed the line of stitches over her friend’s shoulders, remembering the wet and bloodied bandages she’d pulled off the soaking angel.  Soon, they would be able to be removed, but they were still sensitive enough that she wore low-backed shirts to avoid brushing against the cloth.  Frowning at the marks, she wanted to hold her friend until the pain stopped and promise that they’d get her wings back—but she knew what things would go back to when that happened, short visits and always at odds with each other, standing on opposite sides of the rift…

 _She belongs with them_ , Wordsmith reminded herself, even as she leaned back against the arm of the sofa, closing her eyes.   _She deserves her wings… She deserves her life back…  She deserves the light and heaven and to be happy…_

 _She’s happy here, isn’t she?_  The cruel voice whispered before she could push it aside.   _If she doesn’t have her wings, she’s not an angel… she can’t betray us…_

frowning deeply at that thought, she squashed it, though it kept echoing in her head.   _Without her wings, she can’t betray us… She can’t run away…_

_And I’d give up forever to touch you_  
‘Cause I know that you feel me somehow  
You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be  
And I don’t wanna go home right now   


~ _Iris_  by Goo Goo Dolls


End file.
